


the weight of the world's getting harder to hold up

by typervoxilations



Series: keep walking, dear [1]
Category: Subarashiki Kono Sekai | The World Ends With You
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Continuation, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, M/M, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, haha like you guys can expect anything else from me
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-03
Updated: 2015-01-03
Packaged: 2018-03-03 12:40:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,864
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2851142
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/typervoxilations/pseuds/typervoxilations
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Trust your partner. </p><p>( even if doing so got your friends killed and you, shot. twice. )</p><p>( even if he tried to erase your world and lied to you more times than you could count with the fingers on both your hands. )</p><p>( even if it'll take forever for him to see you'll wait an eternity and a day for him to come back to you. )</p>
            </blockquote>





	the weight of the world's getting harder to hold up

**Author's Note:**

  * For [rikacain](https://archiveofourown.org/users/rikacain/gifts).



> Title from Bring Me The Horizon's Drown because the lyrics kind of fit the theme I was aiming for this fic.
> 
> And yeah okay rain, angst, it's a pretty well worn cliche but I can't say it's not effective.
> 
> To my lovely, lovely partner in crime who loves this pairing as much as I do, here's your ( slightly tardy ) Christmas-and-New-Years present; pure angst. Love you bae <3
> 
> (( you get Neku/Josh because guess who was reading signal to noise again? ))

 

* * *

 

“

_My love, you reside in my bones._   
_Etched onto my body,_   
_Clasped within each cell._

_My love, can you not see?_

_That if I must I end you,_

_I must end me._  

”

[N.T.](http://houseangelos.co.vu/tagged/bentobride!poetry)

 

* * *

 

_There is a boy who waits by the statue of Hachiko, always waiting, always keeping an eye on the numbers on his phone. He tucks his headphones around his neck and scans the crowd for the familiar face of someone he once knew and fights the disappointment in his chest when he doesn't see them._

 

_Shibuya is mute, silent, stripped of her song._

 

* * *

 

It's been raining for ages; Neku hadn't expected it, and it hadn't been all that bad at first, just barely a drizzle that had a couple people darting past faster, bags and folders held over their heads while they tried to find a more solid cover. He had pulled the hood of his jacket over his head but it was already soaked through to the roots of his hair.

 

The blinking LED of his the time on his phone reads 18.30.

 

( _analog clock-styled numbers that remind him of the brief, white-hot pain on his palm and a glaring black and red countdown branded into his skin_ )

 

( his breath starts coming in short and he stuffs his hands into the front pouch of his hoodie, fingers curled into fists )

 

The drizzle turns into downpour and by now most people have escaped the cold, snapped out their umbrellas as they hurried to their destinations, barely paying any mind to the lone teenage boy by the Hachiko monument as if he were a statue himself. 

 

The numbers blur and shift through the curtain of water cascading over his hood.

 

The clock reads 20.01.

 

( all he sees is numbers counting backwards from a hour )

 

* * *

 

He gets sick, showing up to meet the others at their usual weekend hang-out with a runny nose and a pounding migraine he tries to play off, grins sheepishly as he feeds them an excuse.

 

Shiki fusses, in a quiet, motherly sort of way.

 

( he likes this Shiki more than the person she tried to force herself to be that first week )

 

Eri laughs and teases him.

 

( she was never his partner but she's as much a part of the group as the air they breathed )

 

Beat punches him in the shoulder, good-naturedly.

 

( and he's scared, scared that the bonds between them were fragile even after all they've been through because he's pretty sure he wouldn't have been able to keep together without Beat's never-ending supply of bullheaded optimism )

 

Rhyme looks at him like she can see right through him.

 

( he does his best not to look her way )

 

The  _shio_ ramen tastes like sawdust.

 

( he's always preferred the  _shoyu_ anyways )

 

* * *

 

He gets episodes sometimes.

 

Sometimes in the quiet of his room he remembers his life flashing before his eyes, the weight of a long-suffering guilt crushing his chest, and then he's scrambling to breathe. 

 

Sometimes he's in the middle of Shibuya crossing and he remembers waking up there without his memories ( _four times_ ) and the bitter taste of death and defeat on his tongue and a hole in his chest that had nothing to do with the bullet Joshua put there, once upon a time. He remembers the weight of hammered sheets of tin in his hands, the flare of power in his veins, the screech of off-chord notes as Noise became static and disappeared from the UG Frequency. He still can't walk past Towa Records without seeing Rhyme disappear into the jaws of shark noise and only Shiki seems to notice when he freezes up for that split shard of a second, trapped in memories she couldn't see.

 

Sometimes when he's traipsing through the Miyashita Park underpass to visit the abandoned WildKat, he thinks he can see neon colors and the jagged edges of graffiti animals and the sharp points of black wings out of the corner of his eye and his hands immediately fly to his pockets for weapons that are no longer there. 

 

Sometimes he thinks he's not imagining it.

 

( he pretends not to hear the ghostly whisper of a giggle that's most likely in the back of his own mind )

 

He mumbles half-hearted apologies when he accidentally reacts, startles people when he leaps to his feet so fast his chair topples over because he could've  _sworn_ - 

 

But it doesn't do well to dwell on thoughts down that road and he's already automatically righting his chair and sitting back down, hands clasped together between his knees, under the table, so tightly he can't feel them anymore. He smiles guiltily when Shiki shoots him a concerned look over black-framed glasses and he chooses to focus on her hands instead; it's still strange seeing her without Mr. Mew in her arms but Shiki had other things to be carrying now, things she used for her RG life instead of a telekinetically controlled stuffed pig battle doll ( _"Its a cat!"_ Shiki still insists but Neku's just not seeing it ). 

 

Sometimes he wonders if he's the only one who hasn't moved on yet.

 

(  _you watch my back, and I'll watch yours_ )

 

( he can still feel the weight of violet eyes and an infuriating smirk, but he can't punch it off a face that's not there )

 

* * *

 

_Trust your partner._

 

He's been trying.

 

He's been trying for  _ages._

 

The hand ticks past the number 8 again, the seconds going and going and going.

 

Neku finds himself leaning against a metal canine alone under the flickering streetlamps again.

 

( _I don't get people. never have; never will_  )

 

( _understanding people isn't hard, Neku. it's impossible_  )

 

And the only person he's never begun to understand isn't here for him to start trying to.

 

(  _I can't forgive you but I trust you._  )

 

( _~~I want to see you again; let me know that you're okay~~_  )

 

* * *

 

He's been trying to do something with his life since coming back to life.

 

( and it was strange at first how it was almost like he hadn't been gone for three whole weeks, like he hadn't been running himself ragged in Shibuya's UG, fighting for answers, fighting for survival; like it was only a bad dream that evaporated at the tips of his fingers as soon as he woke up, except Shiki and Beat and Rhyme were real )

 

( _so why wasn't ~~Joshua~~?_  )

 

He gets back into art again.

 

( and for the first time in years, his fingers don't shake as they pick up pen and sketchbook, and he doesn't cringe from the memories; the car crash, the phone call, the suffocation he felt because _if only he hadn't told him to meet up at Udagawa-_  )

 

He draws and draws and draws, and in a way it's almost like therapy. Lead and charcoal and ink form the shapes that plagued his nightmares ( and most of the time, his waking hours as well ), reminding him that it was real.

 

( sometimes he sketches the soft curls of ash blonde hair and violet eyes sharpened with the knowledge of someone older than fifteen and the curve of thin lips always angled in a secretive, condescending smile like he knew something you didn't )

 

( these are the ones he rips out and stashes away carefully and he shrugs whenever anyone asks him where the missing pages are )

 

* * *

 

WildKat sits abandoned in between Jupiter of the Monkey and the signless turquoise-themed store he's never given a second glance, but Neku comes back to visit as often as he's able anyways just in case Mr. H decides to come back. 

 

( he doesn't at first, but eventually the boards are peeled away and the mess inside is cleaned up and he finds the Producer behind the counter and the smell of coffee in the air like no time had passed at all )

 

He has a million and one questions on the tip of his tongue but Mr. H probably wouldn't answer them anyways.

 

( not the one he wanted him to answer the most )

 

Neku's gotten good at pretending though, so he folds himself up onto a seat and allows himself to play along with a false sense of normalcy, drinking Mr. H's crappy coffee, filling him in on what he's missed the past few months or so, acting like there isn't a loaded silence between them and unspoken questions heavy on the tip of his tongue.

 

He promises to drag the others over for a visit soon.

 

( he gets a vague smile and a wave but no offered answers )

 

* * *

 

It rains again the next time he goes out to wait, and he ends up riding out his fever in the cafe's backroom this time.

 

When he wakes up, he feels vaguely disoriented and he attributes it to the illness until he realizes it's an automatic reaction to the faint nameless, fruity scent that only one person he knew could've had the confidence to wear ( and pull off ).

 

( Neku hated cologne and perfumes and he doubted Mr. H would use that kind of thing )

 

( if he curls tighter into himself to preserve the frail wisp of evidence that Joshua might have been there, no one had to know )

 

* * *

 

He must've gained some pity points from Mr. H after getting sick that one time, because Neku might be a little slow on the uptake, a little guarded and closed off and socially awkward, but he recognizes when clues are dropped into their now-daily chats; it wasn't much but it would have to do because it wasn't like he had any claim to ask any more of the Producer. But he clings on to the steady trickle of reassurance that it's not just in his head and he hasn't actually been waiting for a figment of his imagination.

 

( tries not to think about the turmoil and hurt because if it wasn't all in his head  _why was he still waiting?_ )

 

It must've worked because Shiki presses the back of her hand to his forehead while Eri is dragging Beat and Rhyme into Lapin Angelique and nods, seemingly satisfied.

 

"You look better." She tells him. "Less..." She wrings her hands as she tries to find the right word and the gesture is so familiar it takes him off guard a little. 

 

He tries to make his smile a little more genuine for her. 

 

"Yeah. I'm feeling a little 'more' too."

 

(  _trust your partner,_ and he decides to continue to )

 

* * *

 

_There is a boy waiting by the statue of Hachiko, the beginnings of a smile on his lips, hands in his pockets, looking for all the world as if he's been there all along. It doesn't change but violet eyes light up with unspoken amusement as they take in the disgruntled expression of the person walking towards him._

 

_"What took you so long?"_

 

_( it's a half-hearted grumble to try and disguise the buoyant bubble of relief in his chest )_

 

_"Have you been missing me, my dear, dear partner?"_

 

_( a smile, a smirk, there is no difference on his face, really )_

 

_"You wish."_

 

_(_  Of course I have. _)_

 

_"Hee hee."_

 

_(_  I know. _)_

 

_The numbers read 19:59 and two boys disappear into the flow of Shibuya as the music envelops them like coming home._

**Author's Note:**

> I've been agonizing over how to end this thing for ages OTL


End file.
